Cal replied grimly, “I don’t know what to think at this point.”

Griffin drove Kettering over to the SEAL training building and took him into the operations center. As exhausted as the instructors were coming off Hell Week, Griffin was privately gratified to see all of Sherri’s BUD/S instructors clustered in the operations center.

Even more gratifying was the fact that they all looked worried. As he listened to muted conversations flowing around him, it was clear to Griffin that they weren’t concerned as a function of covering their own asses. They were legitimately worried about Sherri’s well-being.

Son of a gun. She had quietly managed to win over these die-hard skeptics.

Someone brought in food, and Griffin ate out of habit and knowledge that bodies need fuel to operate at peak efficiency.

Around midnight, Cal came over to where Griffin stared bleakly into space. “When’s the last time you slept, Grif?”

“I don’t know. Thursday, maybe.”

“You’re pushing forty-eight hours on your feet, brother. Go down for a nap. You won’t do her any good if you’re too whipped to function. I’ll wake you up if we hear anything.”

Not only was Cal right, but his words had the ring of an order from a superior officer.

Griffin slid down a wall and collapsed in the corner to close his eyes for a few minutes, reluctantly allowing that even he had his limits. If and when they got a lead on Sherri, he needed to be sharp.

In his exhaustion, he started dreaming almost immediately. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that he dreamed of her.

Sherri laughing. Sherri cuddling in his arms. Sherri staring up at him in the throes of pleasure. Her courage, her determination, her dry sense of humor—they all swirled around him in a Technicolor montage of joy.

And then the scene shifted. Darkened. He dreamed of her imprisoned in a small, dark space, afraid and alone. Tortured. Brutalized. Convinced he wasn’t going to come for her.

He lurched, banging his head against the wall as he jolted awake. Where the hell was he…

Right. Ops center. The FBI and police in California and several nearby states were on high alert for her. As manhunts went, it was turning into a big one.

Griffin closed his eyes, fighting back the agony trying to claw its way out of his chest. Where are you, Sherri? Who took you, and where did they take you? Talk to me, baby.

But no matter how hard he mentally tried to communicate with her, all he got back was silence. Frightening, maddening silence.

* * *